Sitting at home, she thought she was finally safe. It has been too long to worry about, she kept telling herself. Nobody suspects what I have done, and the idiotic zombie never showed. Still. Something nagged at the back of her mind. She'd had a couple date, but couldn't escape the feeling that he would walk through the door. She'd made more than one trip to verify the grave was undisturbed. Like some modern perversion of Shakespeare, she thought she could see a tinge of blood under her nails; she thought she could taste his blood when she was trying to enjoy a meal. Was she cracking-up? She didn't think so, the Zombie crisis not withstanding. She'd not gone back to church, though. She just couldn't bring herself to look in the priest's eyes again. She sank down in her chair and turned up the CD to drown out her thoughts.